


Phoenix

by Vitanitas



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Iron Man 3 Compliant, M/M, Thor: The Dark World Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitanitas/pseuds/Vitanitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phoenix; Phoe·ni·cis</p><p>1. A mythological bird of great beauty, that is reborn from the ashes of it's death.</p><p>2. A person or thing that greatly resembles a phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix

_Phoenix_

The words resonate deep within Loki; shake him to his very core. He watches the footage, over and over again, reads the data until his eyes burn with fever, but truly cannot bring himself to stop.

Barton brings him more, tells Loki all he knows.

It is still not enough.

This mortal has enraptured Loki, ensnared him not unlike a deer hunted in the woods, and Loki has yet to even meet the man face to face.

Loki meant to learn as much about his enemies as he could before making his next move. Gather all knowledge of the game, align his pieces and strike- but he’s become distracted. Barton notices, claimed by the Tesseract as he is, tries to get Loki back on track. Gives him different data, pesters him about their next move, but Loki can’t tear himself away from the images, despite all that will fall upon him if he doesn’t move quickly.

 This man, this Tony Stark, his story, his life, his history-his very being, has sucked Loki in like a forbidden and very interesting tome. He wants to learn every page by heart, every letter, every tear in the paper. Loki wants to _know_.

 It should shame him, really, that the words of a mere mortal affect him so. But there is something, in each sound that leaves those lips, that forms a vice like grip around his heart.

_From the ashes of captivity-_

Loki’s breathe catches in his throat.

Yes. Loki too, knows captivity, the feel of vile hands upon him, the tear of skin and the spill of his blood against filthy ground. 

He still knows it.

And this man too, has known it.

The words that leave those lips fill Loki with renewed purpose, strength, and in this way he at last wills himself to leave the tablet, the data, the visions on the screen and get back to work.

His purpose on Midgard has not yet been fulfilled.

And it will be glorious.

\--*--

They first time they meet is in Stuggart, Stark has Loki pinned, all his weaponry pointed at him, and Loki can’t help the shiver that runs through him as he lets his armor fade away.

_Is it better to be feared, or respected?_

They meet again in the man’s tower, Stark armed with nothing but his own humor. Their exchange is beautiful, Starks wit and sharp tongue rival Loki’s own and oh, how he wants to feel that tongue along his own.

He thinks, briefly, of taking this man into his thrall, letting the scepter take over his mind and never, ever letting him leave Loki’s side.

_I say, is it too much to ask for both?_

He’s ashamed to say that he tried. A moment for the corruptness in his soul to rise and attempt to simply _take._

But the scepter fails; tinks harmlessly off the circle of light in the man’s chest, the energy from the scepter easily dispelled and brushed aside.

It hits him then, as the man has the audacity to question Loki’s potency, that Stark is strong. Stronger than Loki, able to deflect the Tesseract and retain himself fully without even trying and have a quip on his tongue afterward.

It _burns_ Loki, how much he wants this man. How very close he is, how he yearns for this man and is desperate for him to yearn Loki in return. If he could- if they just-

Alas, there is no time. The Chitauri will arrive soon, Loki’s wretched and disgusting army, and this man and his comrades must destroy them all.

So, he takes Stark’s throat in his hand, feels his pulse fluttering against his palm even as brown eyes bore into his with defiance, and throws him out of the building.

Knowing full well the man will rise again.

\--*--

Loki, in all his many many years, has never seen a phoenix.

Their feathers, though rare, are often used in various spells and he has seen many of those, held them in his hands briefly enough that he could feel their power without allowing them to burn him.

It occurs to him now, why those feathers were always more keen to burn him than the other Aseir that handled them.

On this he tries not to dwell, and instead focuses on the Man of Iron flying though the air, away from the plummeting gravity of his fall that would have been his certain death.  In a blaze of light and fire he soars, not unlike how Loki imagines the true bird of legend would appear.

\--*--

Before the Tesseract pulls Loki from earth, Stark gives Loki a look he can’t decipher, his eyes hidden away behind dark glasses. It is this, and the tiny rising of Stark’s lip when the Avengers had circled the god in his defeat, that Loki takes with him. Plays to himself over and over again in his mind (and sometimes, when the dungeons are dark and abandoned of all except for himself; with illusions.) to pass the time in his renewed captivity.

It helps to ease the boredom, to keep his mind from darker places, even as his cell is nothing but light.

It also causes him pain, a small ache in his chest that grows as time passes by and Loki knows he can’t be kept here for long.

He knows later, as his skin is growing black and the dust of Svartalfheim begins to choke him; that he cannot be kept away. Death cannot keep him from seeing that burning light again.

_From the ashes…_

\--*--

Breathlessly, he whispers in Stark’s ear, filthy, glorious things that make the man shiver and harden and press Loki further into the mattress.

It has taken years, but at last he has him. His body, perhaps his trust, and soon someday, if Loki allows himself to hope, his heart.

In Stark’s bed they writhe together, shedding clothing as their lips and teeth clash. They wrestle, fight each other for dominance and it is a battle Loki would be happy to come out as loser or victor. Stark ends up below him, shirtless, out of breath and beautiful.

But- there is something missing. The circle of light in his chest, the star that allowed the man to burst from his prison in a glorious explosion of heat and defy the power of the scepter, is gone. The flesh between his chest is unmarred but for the faintest of scars.

Empty.

It gives him pause, and there is a twinge- a bit of pain or longing that Loki feels when he watches the man’s naked chest rise and fall. It is, in a way, heart wrenching.

Stark notices Loki’s hesitation, “What’s wrong?”

And maybe it’s the man’s voice, the one that Loki has listened too many many times, that finally snaps Loki from his melancholy.  He comes back to himself, to Stark below him and the surge of need between their bodies.

He leans down, runs his tongue along the man’s now blank chest and savors the taste, of skin, salt, and the faintest bit of iron. He traces where the light had been with his tongue, the man’s slight gasp like music to his ears.

The sudden rising warmth of the skin beneath his tongue in unexpected, and confusedly Loki raises enough from the man’s chest to look. Where his tongue has traced is now a path of warm light, hues of fire and sunset running and swirling beneath the man’s skin, like fire flowing within his veins.

Loki can do nothing but stare.

_Phoenix_

“Ah, sorry.” Stark says, his voice filled with embarrassment as he begins to babble. “That’s new. I’m still trying to control it- but it’s perfectly safe-”

Loki surges forward, catches the man’s mouth with his own. Hungrily, he takes his breath, that tongue at last sliding along his own and it is _bliss._ His hands roam the body beneath him, feeling the heat that swirls beneath Stark’s skin. Cannot hold his gasp when Stark’s hands, warm and rough and filled with that same heat run along his sides.

“Oh,” Stark chuckles when Loki at last releases his lips, “You like that?”

“ _Yes,”_ he breathes, kissing down the man’s neck and leading them further into the throes of passion. He likes it very, very much.

And Loki can’t help it, can’t help it as he mumbles the word, the name; over and over again it leaves his lips as their bodies race towards climax.

_Never has a greater phoenix metaphor been personified._


End file.
